Devastation and New Start
by Elenimou
Summary: The worst has happened. Now Stephanie must leave Trenton and start a new life. HEA.


**Devastation and a New Start**

This is a rewrite of the original story from 2017. If you have read the original; you don't need to read this unless you need a refresher. Part II titled " **Home on the Rangeman** " picks up where this leaves off and will be published early in 2019.

* * *

 **Chapter 1:** The Devastation

* * *

It was a grey, rainy day, ideal for a funeral. The Trenton Policemen were in full dress, standing at attention, honoring their fallen comrade. The Morelli family surrounded the coffin, weeping loudly. Detective Joseph Morelli, the only decent male Morelli the Burg could remember had died. Other Morelli males were known wife beaters, drunks, and brawlers. Joseph had become a semi-respected 13-year policeman rising to detective. His reputation as an officer was not stunning, but acceptable. He was not an alcoholic like his father nor was he an abuser. In high school he became the Cherry Popping Champion relieving many young girls of their virginity, myself included.

Our lives separated after an unplanned sexual encounter, at least unplanned by me, behind the cannoli counter at Tasty Pastry. The next day he went off to the Navy, and I had to endure the reputation the cannoli happening caused by my mother and the Burg. Neither was true. I didn't partake in sex for years after Tasty Pastry. The next time I saw Joe Morelli, he had returned from the Navy. I was so upset he did not write or call me, I ran him down with my father's Buick. After all, I thought he cared about me by the way he graffitied the town about our Tasty Pastry encounter.

After bouncing him off the Buick's bumper, I went to college, went to work in Newark, and married Dickie Orr. College was four years, the job was several, and the marriage lasted less than a month. I was broke. The lingerie job ended suddenly when the Feds raided the facility. Dickie was an attorney and made sure he got everything in the divorce as I sullied his name, big time! I needed a job. I blackmailed my cousin Vincent Plum into giving me a job with his bail bonds business. My first case as a bounty hunter was to bring in Joe Morelli. He was accused of killing his informant. To prove his innocence and avoid jail, he skipped on the bond.

I returned him to jail, proved him innocent, and ended up with as an on again-off again boyfriend. I might have fallen entirely for Joe. He was handsome in high school but had matured into a drop-dead gorgeous man with an incredible butt. At the same time, I was trying to capture Joe, I met my mentor. He was Ricardo Carlos Manoso, owner of Rangeman Security, Army Ranger and mercenary. My title for him was Cuban Sex God. There was absolutely nothing wrong with Carlos Manoso, aka Ranger, absolutely nothing except commitment issues.

For the next few years, I had relationships with both men. Joe's was a sexual relationship. The relationship with Ranger was mostly professional with a lot of lust. There was a growing attraction between us but due to his mercenary work, he "didn't do relationships." Ranger sent me back to Joe believing Joe would provide me with what I wanted. Wrong.

Joe wanted marriage and children, a prospect that caused me to break out in hives, rashes, and pimples. I've never seen myself as a mother. The reason is the other cause for my hives, rashes, and pimples, my mother. All my life she had been grooming me to be the perfect Burg wife and mother. After the divorce from Dickie, she invited numerous men to the family dinner table in hopes I would find a new prospect and get on board with the program. When I started dating Joe Morelli, she sucked up her dislike for him, accepted he had a respectable job and would somehow turn me into a reputable member of the community. Being a bounty hunter led me from one calamity after another thus becoming the Burg's prime gossip material much to my mother's chagrin. Proper Burg women do not burn down funeral homes, tramp through garbage, or get thrown from the bridge.

I was torn between two men. One wanted me, but I wasn't entirely on board. The other I wanted, but he wasn't entirely on board. I refused to take instruction on how to be a better bond apprehension agent. I refused to buckle to Burg pressure to be a proper wife and mother. My obstinacy kept me from moving forward, in any direction. Suddenly my whole life crashed apart.

Joe had been away. Some whispered it was an undercover operation. If I heard the Burg rumor, so did the people Joe was investigating. Suddenly the story was Joe was going on a fishing vacation to Alaska. Unfortunately, the plane he hired to take him to some remote fishing location crashed into the ocean. The Coast Guard found pieces of the aircraft, but no human remains. Joe was declared dead.

There could be no internment without a body. The funeral was more a memorial. Grandma Bella needed the casket to accept her favorite grandson was dead. The coffin, a loaner, would be returned to the funeral home. Later a memorial headstone would be placed in the Morelli family plot indicating Joe was lost at sea.

I was near the back of the mourners, my sister Valerie on my left, my father on my right. Tank, the second in command at Rangeman stood behind me. I didn't hear the prayers or the eulogy. I was as empty as the casket. I had no more tears.

As the service neared its end, Tank reached forward and gently turned me around and pulled me to his chest. The final rifle salute caught me by surprise. I gasped at the sharp sound and began to sob. The last time I cried into Tank's chest was at Ranger's funeral seven weeks prior. He too was gone, killed on a secret mission.

As the funeral-goers moved off, Tank protected me from unwanted stares. When we were alone, my father gently took my arm, "It's time to leave Stephanie." My mother had not come to the funeral, she was under the weather. She was probably under the table having begun drinking when she learned her daughter's hope for marriage was gone.

There was no way I was going home with my father. "Please Daddy, I just want to go to my apartment." Tank released me and kissed the top of my head and looked at my father and sister with the "Are you sure you've got her" look.

Back in my apartment I was between crying jags, flopped on my couch when someone knocked at my door. Looking through the peephole, I saw Mooch Morelli, Joe's cousin. When I unbolted the door, a giant red dog jumped onto me and began washing my tear-stained face. "Nobody wants Bob and Joe always said you were the half owner."

Bob was once my dog but bonded to Joe. The golden-red dog was beloved even if he did eat my underwear and barf them back up. I threw my arms around Bob Dog and hugged him. When I looked up, Mooch was gone. Bob came only with his leash. There were no bowls or food. I filled a saucepan with water and set it on the floor. My refrigerator held uneaten pizza. Bob got two slices. After two hours Bob began pacing indicating he needed to relieve himself. There is no way of knowing how long I would have remained cooped up in the apartment if it hadn't been for Bob and his needs.

I answered the telephone initially until someone said, "If only you had married Joe, you'd have his house and life insurance, maybe a pension." After that, I quit answering the phone and erased messages unheard.

I sat grieving for the two men I cared for. Joe was my friend and lover. Ranger was my heart and soul mate. There were now only ashes from where they had been in my life. I needed to move on, away from the Burg and the gossip, away from the memories.

-0-

Tank jumped to his feet when I entered his office at Rangeman. He had moved into Ranger's office. Tears sprang from my eyes. Ranger was not coming back, ever. "Stephanie..." and he threw his massive arms around me. I was like being smothered by The Hulk if the Hulk was as immense as Tank.

Sniffling and wiping my nose, "Tank, I need to leave Trenton and all the memories and start over. Is there an opening in one of the other Rangemen offices?"

Tank looked alarmed, "You've got a home here, Steph. Ranger would want us to look after you."

"No, I can't be in this building anymore. Tank, I am nothing more than entertainment to all of you. Heck, I was only a line item in the budget called 'entertainment.' That makes me sound like a pole dancer or worse. You put up with me because of Ranger."

"That may have been true initially, but you became one of us. You belong here," he soothed.

"I've been trying to be the modern woman, independent and self-reliant but in a committed relationship, not screwing around. I failed with Dickie Orr. Joe wanted me to fit into his box of Burg wife and baby machine. Ranger was committed to Ranger first and Rangeman second. He once told me a pledge with a woman was a condom, not a ring. I was no better than a piece of latex to him for an occasional bang."

"Stephanie, that's not true!" He scolded. "He loved you and tried to protect you but the contract..."

"Stop Tank, I'm tired of hearing about government contracts and mystery missions. They killed him!" I screamed. Taking a breath, I continued. "I'm the one who screwed up. I couldn't commit to Joe, I didn't really love him, and I knew Ranger couldn't commit to me. It was a two way street to nowhere, exactly where I am today,"

I began walking around the office, "Now that Joe is gone, the comments are, 'If she had married Joe, she'd have his house and his life insurance.' When or if my mother sobers up she will begin the endless parade of Burg losers for me to select as a husband."

"You could live here or someplace other than the Burg and work for us," Tank offered.

"I need to go far away. It's time I stand on my own two feet or fail. I may end up living under a bridge somewhere, but it won't be in Trenton where people can drive by and point at me and embarrass my family."

'What will you do?'

I shook my head, "I don't know. I'm a barely adequate bond apprehension agent. How many times did Ranger or Rangeman save me? I can do computer searches, but it is a mind-numbing job. "

"Most jobs are pretty mind-numbing Stephanie. Think about bounty hunting, how much time is spent on surveillance, computer searches compared to time spent on the actual apprehension."

"Not the way I do them."

Tank almost smiled, "True it does take you several attempts to bring in your target and the apprehension is often colorful."

I wanted to smile but couldn't.

"I'll contact Miami and Atlanta to see what they have," he sighed.

I threw my arm around Tank's chest, giving him a hug and then quickly stepped out of the office before my tears became too obvious. The men monitoring the screens didn't look up at me as I entered the elevator to leave.

My purse began to ring, it was my phone. "When are you coming back to work? I've got skips piling up. If you don't take them, I'm giving them to Joyce Barnhardt," Vinnie my boss screamed. I was tired of bumping heads with Joyce. She was my nemesis as far back as elementary school. Blackmail wasn't going to work anymore, it was time to take the first step to independence. "Vinnie, you and Joyce are made for each other. I'm not coming back, period."

Later that day Tank called to say there was nothing available at Rangeman Miami or Atlanta, but he was putting out feelers to other security companies around the country. He sounded hopeful. My heart fell even further. No more Rangeman.

* * *

 **Chapter 2:** New Opportunity

* * *

Bob's bodily needs forced me out of the apartment. To avoid the Burg gossip Bob and I would get in the car and drive to more remote areas for walks. I knew the tracking devices on my car were still in place and no doubt someone was watching over us. I didn't care one way or the other.

"Bob, we are getting some serious muscle here. Ranger would be..." and then I started weeping again. During one walk my mother called, "Come for dinner, I have lasagna." I recognized the hopeful sound and the special meal. It was code for "I've got another prospect lined up."

"No Mom, friends have asked me to stop over." I hated to lie to my mother, but I've grown more intolerant of her actions.

"What friends? Not those thugs you work with. That is why Joe wouldn't propose. He didn't want you working with those…..men," she spat.

Feeling snarky I said, "Daniel and Jack, two gay guys I've known for a while."

Yes, my mother should recognize their names, in reverse, Jack and Daniels. I was not taking up drinking, but would my mother figure out the reference? Or did she drink Johnny Walker? I couldn't remember.

"Homosexuals?" she shrieked. "You won't find a husband with either of them."

I sighed, "I don't want a husband." I hung up before she could start another tirade. I was tired of her racism, phobias, and attempts at making me a good Burg wife.

The next day later Lula came to my apartment with a dozen doughnuts. After setting the box on the table, she gave me a big hug. I ignored the box even though they had several Boston crèmes. "You aren't eating doughnuts?" she asked.

"I can't, I've lost my appetite for them. Doughnuts made me happy. There is nothing to be happy about."

"Looks to me you are losing weight, are you eating at all?"

No, I wasn't eating much more than peanut butter and olive sandwiches. I shopped at the convenience store paying the exorbitant prices to avoid meeting people I knew at the grocery store. I didn't dare go to Pino's and become the Burg's main gossip topic. "It's the exercise, Bob and I walk a couple of miles every day, gets me out of the apartment."

"You aren't coming back are you?" Lula mumbled as she selected another doughnut from the box.

Sipping my coffee and trying to keep Bob from helping himself to the doughnuts or eating the box they came in, "No, there's nothing here for me anymore. I'm looking for a job away from Trenton. "

"What about your family?"

"That's part of the problem. My mother is back on the prowl for a new man for me. If I'm ever getting over this, I have to leave and heal."

"I'll miss you."

I jumped up and leaned over and hugged her, "Oh Lula...I'm really going to miss you."

"I'm leaving the office too. Vinnie is hiring Joyce. I don't know what I'll do. I'd like to become a beautician or fashion consultant, but I don't have money for tuition."

"Is Tank is off the charts?"

"I had hoped we'd get back together, but he's too busy running Rangeman."

"I'm sorry," I said, though I don't know why. I love Lula but could never see her and Tank in a committed relationship. They were best at a sexual relationship.

"He's got more than adequate equipment and knows how to use it, but he's too serious," she hiked her shoulders as if to say, that's the way he is.

As Lula opened the front door, we hugged for a long time, "I wish you the best Lula. May you find happiness."

Tears were rolling down her eyes, "You saved my life, and you've been my best friend. You take care of yourself White Girl."

-0-

The next day around Noon, Tank called. "Steph, there's a firm we work in New Mexico. They may have a position for you. Can you be here at 14:00, that's 2 pm, to talk to the owners? We will meet in Conference Room two."

"They are in Trenton?"

"Yes, they are here on business. I mentioned your desire to relocate and they have openings."

"I'm on my way," I assured Tank. Where is New Mexico, was that even in the US? Do I need to speak Spanish, I wondered.

I knocked before I entered. "Come in Steph," came Tank's booming voice. In addition to Tank, there was a Latino woman, and Anglo male. "Stephanie, these are Nick and Angela Butler, of Butler Security in Albuquerque."

The man was dressed casually in a polo shirt and trousers. His shoulder and chest were developed, his arms muscled. The woman was also fit. Her arms were bare showing exceptional shoulders and well defined arms. Her hair was long, straight and dark, skin color was closer to Lester's, but her eyes were deep chocolate brown.

After shaking hands with both, I sat down opposite the woman. The man on her right began, "Tank says you are looking to leave Trenton but would like to stay in the security field."

"Yes sir, I've been doing bound apprehension these past few years."

"What did you do before," Angela asked.

"I was a buyer for EE Martin in Newark. They are, or were, in the garment industry until the Feds closed them down for racketeering."

"Tank mentioned you work for Rangeman on occasion. What do you do?"

I suspected she already knew but answered politely, "I mainly do background searches as needed. I've also done distractions on fugitive takedowns."

Angela nodded. Nick spoke, "We have immediate openings in our main office in Albuquerque. The first is for research and background searches which you are already doing here. We also have positions in monitoring and sales."

Inwardly I groaned, the first two were butt-numbing work. I hoped my groan didn't reach my face. What did I know about sales? Sure I had a business degree and worked in the lingerie business, but what do I remember?

Nick continued, "I realize you have been doing mostly field work in bond apprehension. We are more a security and private detective business." Nodding toward Tank, he continued, "Tank says you have good thinking and reasoning skills. The searches would be a good first step into moving into the detective part of the business. As a field agent, you would need to have training in detective procedures, physical fitness, and weapons proficiency. We'd rather start you in the office and later, if you want, transition you to the field."

Good thinking and reasoning skills? What was Tank talking about? Joe would surely laugh at that assessment. I knew I could do the research, but I'd fall asleep monitoring. Did I still have any sales instincts? I suspected I would need training to stay in bond apprehension. The Butlers' offers may be the best I get. "Do I need to speak Spanish?" It was a requirement here at Rangeman.

Angela chuckled, "Trust me, New Mexico is part of the US, English is the main language, but Spanish is prevalent. Do you speak Spanish?"

"I've been chewed out in Spanish, Italian, Russian, and several other languages. I'm well versed in the swear words."

"You didn't learn them at Rangeman," Tank interjected.

"No, no, your men are gentlemen at all times," I said reframing from rolling my eyes.

"Spanish is considered a virtue in hiring, but more so for field agents," Angela added.

"Will I make enough salary to live on?"

They both looked at me like I was crazy. I explained, "In bond apprehension payment is based upon apprehension. There are many times I have had to supplement my income with work here at Rangeman." I still lived like a pauper.

"Yes, you will be on salary, not commission," Nick assured me.

That alone was enough to seal the deal. "Your offer is very tempting. May I ask a few more questions?"

After accepting the move to Albuquerque and shaking hands with the Butlers, I excused myself. I needed time to think. Wandering into the gym, I saw Hal and Cal lifting weights. The rest of the gym was empty. My mind was running full speed. How will I move me, Rex, and Bob to New Mexico or will I have to foist the poor dog onto somebody else? How many owners can Bob have in his life? How will I tell my family?

Tank came in and sat down against the wall with me. "It's a big step Steph. Are you planning your trip?"

"Somehow I have to get the animals and me across the country. My car won't make it. I'm not sure my grandmother would give me the Buick."

"Baby Girl, don't worry about it. Rangeman will get you there. We can also have a going away party..."

"Noooo, Tank, please."

"You can't just disappear, Steph. You have too many friends and family here who will be hurt."

"Oh Tank," I said laying my head on his broad shoulder, "I need to leave. A going away party, even with the guys here would be far too painful. You have become my best friends, my family. But Ranger's ghost hangs heavy here. I have to leave. As for my real family, I'll contact them after I leave. I'm sure my mother expects nothing better of me."

-0-

The day came to leave. Rangemen were lined up in the garage, some just learning about my departure. I began hugging and kissing each of the men, trying to joke with each but failing miserably. Hal choked back tears, "I'm really going to miss you Bomber." I smiled, "Now you can relax I'm not going to stun you again in the stairwell."

Cal, my best friend, held me tight and sobbed quietly. "Who am I going to take care of now?" I kissed the flaming skull tattoo on his forehead, "Someday you'll find someone. You've proven you have a truly caring heart."

Manny looked crestfallen. "Wifey….." was all he could say least he start sobbing.

Lester shook his head but held back his tears. Ranger was his cousin. His loss and now mine had turned the bubbly Lester to silence.

Bobby kissed me softly, "Take care of yourself, Stephanie. Remember you are an intelligent, special, and capable woman who is loved by everyone here. I hope you can find happiness again."

Hector kissed me, "Vaya con Dios mi hermana, mi angelita."

What made me think I'd find happiness elsewhere? Here were a dozen or more men who had become my friends, brothers and I was deserting them.

Bob jumped into the back of the Rangeman black Explorer and with all my worldly possessions packed in the rear. Rex was in his aquarium behind Tank. I slid into the front passenger's seat. Tank folded himself into the driver's side and told the men, "I'll be back in four days." I wondered if I'd ever return.

It takes 28 hours to drive nonstop from Trenton and Albuquerque, not counting Bob breaks, gasoline refills and people needs. We alternated driving though I suspected my insistence on driving so Tank could sleep was begrudgingly granted. Somewhere around western Oklahoma, I moaned, "Oh geez what have I gotten myself into?'

Tank, keeping his eyes on the road hunched his shoulders a bit, "You'll be fine." It was so Tank, so concise but not reassuring.

"But it will be so different..." I started as I noted the landscape was changing, getting drier. I've never lived anywhere other than Trenton, except college at Douglass. "

"One place is like another. It is up to you how you will fit in. You go in with a negative attitude and poison yourself, or you go in with a positive attitude. You are very personable, Stephanie. People like you. You bring light wherever you go. The Butlers are good people. She's former CIA, he's Navy Seals. Most of their staff is also former military. It will be like Rangeman with all new guys to charm. "

"CIA," I squeaked. "Why is she in New Mexico?"

Tank chuckled, "Love. She met Nick and it was love at first sight. The both left their original jobs, married, and moved to New Mexico."

"Is she from there?"

"Nick is the original New Mexican."

I stared at him. It was the most words I had ever heard him utter at one time. "You speak?" I asked kiddingly.

He looked at me briefly with the death stare, but I thought I saw a little mirth on his lips.

Moving through Texas and New Mexico, the country became more desolate. There were no large trees or forests. The sky was bluer and the sun harsher. The air smelled dry and dusty. Not far from Albuquerque the land suddenly shot vertical into a single line of mountains with evergreen trees. When we exited the mountains, we were in an open urban expanse of homes, strip malls, and highway congestion. "Welcome to Albuquerque," Tank said. I was happy to see civilization again.

We drove several miles into town before Tank turned off I-40 and into a motel parking lot. After registering we wound around to my unit. It was a suite, suitable for extended stays. "You'll need to bring everything inside, I'll help you. This town has a bad reputation for motel parking lot thefts. Nothing is safe, even locked trailers."

I wondered where Tank would spend the night.

"I have the room next door. I'll be here tonight. Tomorrow I'll visit a friend before flying back to Trenton. The Explorer is yours. It is registered and insured in your name. When you find a place to live, change the addresses."

My eyes were open wide, I was speechless.

Reaching into his jacket pocket, he pulled out an envelope and handed me a certified check for a considerable sum. "Part of Ranger's will to you. He wanted to take care of you in life or death. Invest it. You have no savings for retirement. Nick and Angela can advise you. The other part of the will is you are a part owner of Rangeman. Twice a year you will receive a dividend check."

"I could have stayed in Trenton with this," I mumbled. Heck, for this I could live on the beach….anywhere.

"No Baby Girl, your life is no longer in Trenton or the Burg. You have family back there, yours and Rangeman but it is time for you to fly free."

I threw my arms around the big man, crying softly into his shirt, "I'm going to miss everyone, especially you, Pierre." I could feel him soften. Few people knew his real name let alone used it.

Tank hugged back and with a sob said, "Stephanie, life will get better. Know you are loved and cherished. I will always be available for you no matter the time or place."

* * *

 **Chapter 3:** Start Over

* * *

After Tank left and I had another crying jag, I watched Bob pace about. "Oh boy, what am I going to do with you Bob while I'm at work? I can't leave you in the room to eat the furniture."

Locating Butler Security's location on a map and comparing it to various dog care centers, I decided Canine Country Club would be close to work. The next morning I called about the prices. I needed to find a cheap place to live, that accepts a big dog. Doggie daycare would be a luxury, not a daily event unless my salary was six figures or I wanted to dent Ranger's check.

I arranged for Bob to have a couple of hours at the doggie country club while I found Butler Security. Unlike Rangeman Trenton that was located in a 7 story structure in downtown Trenton, Butler Security was situated in a light industrial area. The building was a tan stucco three-story stucco building off I-25. Like Rangeman Trenton it was protected by a variety of seen and probably unseen security features.

"Welcome to Albuquerque," said Nick Butler standing in the front lobby. A security guard sat behind a desk nearby.

"It's different from Trenton, pretty brown and a lot fewer trees," I replied.

"This is a high desert. The altitude is a mile high, like Denver. Sun is intense, air is dry. Takes a lot of supplemental irrigation to keep plants alive and water isn't overly abundant. Still, we do the best we can," he explained.

"Bet I need sunscreen."

"Every day and drink plenty of water otherwise you'll dry up like a raisin." As we moved from the reception area towards the main offices, he asked, "Where are you staying?"

"I'm at the Marriott Residence Inn off I-40. I need someplace closer to here that will also accept Bob, my Golden Retriever. Doggie daycare will send me to the Poor House quickly," I chuckled.

Shaking his head in agreement Nick said, "That it will. We have friends in the dog world here, they may have suggestions."

Unlike Rangeman, Butler Security dressed in khaki color for fieldwork. The office staff was in khaki colored pants with white collared shirts or white polo shirts. "No sexy attire, we've got a lot of high testosterone men here," Nick explained. Most employees were men, but I noticed several women. The women were very fit. They looked like women Ninja Warrior contestants. Doughnuts probably never crossed their lips, but then they didn't mine either anymore.

There were no flabby bellies in sight. All were fit either in Ironman competitor frame or muscled up. The employees were divided between Anglo, Latino, African American, and what I assumed to be Native American.

"The business operates in three areas, Albuquerque and Corrales, Placitas a mountain community northeast of town, and in Santa Fe, the state capitol, 60 miles north," Nick explained. "Each outlying area has its own office for quick dispatch, but all business is done from here. This is where you will work."

As we walked around the "campus" as Nick called the site, I discovered many of the same features as Rangeman; gym, weapons area, armory, medical area, business offices, conference rooms, monitoring area, server room, but also a daycare center. "Babies happen. We'd rather keep ours well protected," Nick explained.

After my first few days work, my butt and back appreciated the new office chair. At first, I thought the chair a welcoming gesture but soon began wondering if the previous inhabitant has worn theirs out from long hours. The search programs were mostly the ones I used in Trenton. More under the radar programs were under Angela's lock and key, perhaps some time I'll have access to them as well.

Once I caught up on the backlog, I had time to look around. There was no Break Room per se, but rather a cafeteria suitable to feed several dozen people at the same time. To move around I have been visiting the cafeteria three times a day, two coffee breaks and one lunch. There were no doughnuts, pastries, but plenty of fruit and vegetable crudités for snacking. Lunches ran heavily to soups, salads, and lean meats. There was often a bean and rice entrée. The black beans and rice made me think of Ranger's love of Cuban food, so I looked away.

The gym wasn't much different than Rangeman's. The health coordinator came forward and identified himself, "I Ben Jamison. Are you our new recruit from New Jersey?"

"Stephanie Plum," I shook his hand.

"Dr. Brown sent your medicals, they arrived this morning. You've had your share of scrapes and adventures but nothing major. He also noted you have an allergy to exercise."

"That's one way of looking at it," I shrugged.

"Let's make an appointment for an assessment, blood work, no undressing, I promise. Then let's see if we can tailor a physical program you can live with."

After the exam, Ben and I sat down to go over the results. "You are a tad underweight, but since you've had two emotional losses recently, I take that is the reason for the weight loss. I would like you to put 5 to 7 pounds back on but not with high carb foods. Your blood work is showing a tendency to high cholesterol and blood fats. You aren't there yet, but you are too high for your age. I don't know what you were eating back East, but it's time to get smart. Hate to say it, but exercise will help. I'm not saying you need to be lifting weights, but you need to become physically active. Your office chair is not your friend. Start walking."

"I was walking my dog before I came out here."

"Perfect. Continue. You both will benefit. In addition to tradition gym equipment we have various classes: yoga, dance exercise, Tae Kwan Do, and Krav Maga if you don't like the bicycle or treadmill. In time I'd like to start you on light weights to protect your bones."

"I see women working here. Do they work out?"

"They do a little bit of everything. The dance exercise classes are big as is yoga. There's a basketball half court where they often shoot hoops. All those in fieldwork take regular martial arts training and well as intense conditioning. Angela, the owner, is almost rabid about exercise. There's a men's and ladies locker room so you can shower after working out."

I thanked Ben for his time and left resigned to actual physical workouts. Running through garbage or running after fugitives were no longer going to keep me in my jeans.

-0-

Angela wasn't as visible around the office as Nick. I was surprised when she stopped by my cubicle, "Stephanie, you are doing a great job. Tank was right, you have an excellent mind, creative thinking for problem-solving. In the month you've been here our clients are singing your praises. We'll have to keep you hidden, or the Feds will want you."

"Why would they want me," I croaked.

"To work for them," she said laughing. "Are you hiding something?"

Federal government guys always made me nervous, and now I consider them responsible for Ranger's death. Getting back on track, "Angela, I'm going nuts with some of these names. I recognize the Spanish, but what are these?"

Looking at the list, Angela smiled, "Indian names, Zuni, Navajo, Hopi on these first few, the rest are names from the Pueblos along the Rio Grande. You'll pick them up."

"No way am I going to be able to pronounce this one," I said pointing to one.

Angela smiled, "Every tourist along I-40 probably asks says the same thing when they see "To'Hajiilee" on the exit sign. It is Navajo."

Angela made it sound so pronounceable.

Life settled down. Bob and I have a nice place to live. The Butlers came through with the name of a couple who own and show Golden Retrievers. The Campbells have a casita, guest house, next to their home in Corrales, a semi-rural area of horse paddocks, small farms, orchards, and huge homes. Not only does Bob have playmates, but he also has acres of real grass lawn instead of the stone landscapes so prevalent elsewhere. The casita sits near the bosque, a Spanish word for forest. The forest is suggestive. It is nothing more than a narrow strip along the Rio Grande. Walkers, hikers, bicyclists, and horseback riders used the bosque trails for recreation. So do Bob and me.

When we are not on the trails, we explore Albuquerque and surrounding areas. Bob, the canine magnet has helped me meet people who first admire my big red Wookie-dog. This, in turn, leads to conversations with strangers on the best coffee houses, restaurants, theaters, and events in the area. Several guys have asked me out on dates, but so far, I've refused. I'm just not ready.

Apparently, Bob and my explorations haven't gone unnoticed from Butler Security workers. Nick approached me, "Stephanie, our patrols see how easily you and Bob move around the city."

My mind flashed on Ranger's tracking devices, "Am I being tracked?"

Nick hesitated just a moment which made me suspicious, "No, it's hard to miss a lovely lady and the giant retriever at locations where we often supply security."

I let the explanation go unchallenged, reluctantly.

Nick continued, "Maybe we ought to test your observation skills and perhaps, in time, move you into surveillance, but only if you are interested." Any chance I get to move from behind the computer is welcome.

Steven Marchand and Jose Castillo became my mentors. Steve is 6'2", sandy brown curly hair, blue eyes, very fit but not overly muscular. He's obviously from Texas from his accent. Today he's wearing jeans and a cowboy cut shirt. Jose is 6 feet, mocha-latte complexion. His hair is cut in a fade and like Steve, very fit but also not muscle bound. It some ways he resembled Ranger, in a less massive form. Then it dawned on me, if they do surveillance, they couldn't stand out like, say Hal or Tank. These are surveillance, not intimidation. There were plenty of "intimidators" in Butler lineup. They worked in other areas.

On the first training day, we visited the Frontiersman restaurant across Central Avenue from the University of New Mexico. "The foot traffic through here is phenomenal. If we are looking for people from around the university area, this is a good place to start. Not only that, they have great breakfast burritos and sweet rolls," remarked Jose.

The sweet roll looked delicious, but I only snuck a bit of Steve's. "I'm not much of a sweet eater," I choked out. Since Ranger's and Joe's deaths, sweets no longer made me happy.

The breakfast burrito was huge, an oversized flour tortilla wrapped around scrambled eggs, bacon and sausage, potatoes and cheese and covered with green stuff. "What's this," I asked as I sampled a bit.

"Darlin'" drawled Marchand in his Texas accent, "That's green chile. It is part of the food pyramid here. In fact the state motto is 'red or green' as darn near everything comes buried in either red or green chile."

Tasting a tiny bit, "Holy cow, it's hot. Is it radioactive?"

"Oh Gringa, you'll get used to it," mused Castillo. "My abuelita makes much hotter chile.

"Which is hotter, red or green?" I asked, reaching for water to cool my tongue.

"Stephanie, there's no rule. Depending on the chile variety and the growing season, either one can be hotter than the other. The two colors have completely different flavors," Marchand explained. "When we add in the all the various chiles from Mexico, you'll learn to appreciate their flavor diversity. First lesson: To cool the burn, drink milk or eat something with honey or jam. Water, coffee, or beer is useless."

"Flavors? My taste buds are incinerated." I wondered if I should order a glass of milk or order ice cream.

"Yeah, red is more complex as it comes from ripe peppers, green is immature. Most people like both," he continued, "and will order both and call it 'Christmas.'"

Castillo jumped in, "To start, always order it on the side so you can add only as much as you like."

I scraped the green stuff off and dug into my burrito. It was delicious and I found myself moaning in delight. Both men looked at me. "Hey, I like food," I countered.

While Jose and Steve ate, their eyes regularly roamed the restaurant. They watched people at the walk up to the order counter and those that wandered around looking for a place to sit. The clientele weighed heavily towards the college age including grad school and what I assumed were professors and staff. But there was a surprisingly diverse population in the large restaurant.

"There's Baca," mumbled Castillo.

"We need to see how he leaves," Marchand mumbled in return.

As Baca left, Castillo slipped out of the booth. A few minutes later, "Honda Accord, I've got the license. We'll call it in. Wanna bet its stolen, loser buys lunch?"

Lunch? This meal will last me all day, I thought. "Who is Baca?" I asked.

"Merchandise entrepreneur," Marchand answered as he sipped his coffee.

"Fence?" I asked.

"Yeah, he buys and sells anything, and I do mean anything."

I wondered what the last part meant, is he also a pimp or worse?

As Marchand is pushed his empty plate aside, "OK, Ms. Trenton. Let's see how observant you are. Can you describe Baca?"

I thought about the man I briefly saw, " Male Latino, age 35 plus or minus, 5'9", 155 lbs, acne scars. Clean shaven including his head. He's wearing a stud earring in his left ear. It's metal, not stone or ring. Tat on his chest, couldn't see all of it due to wife beater tee shirt. Denim shirt over the top left unbuttoned and untucked. His jeans are torn on the right knee, Dallas Cowboys baseball cap. His wallet was on the left with a chain guard. His cell phone is worn on a holster on his right side. I believe he had cowboy boots, light brown, scuffed.

"Weapons?"

"I saw none, but with the over-shirt, I would not dismiss a piece at his back. I don't trust the boots either, deep enough for a serious knife."

Both men looked impressed. "What type of aftershave was he wearing?"

I smiled, "You said observe, not sniff. Judging from his overall appearance, I'd say something cheap. He's not charming the ladies during the day."

"Very good, Ms. Trenton," Steve said. "One correction, don't automatically assume Hispanic. We have a variety of Native Americans who tend to be more medium complexion like Jose here. Unless you are absolutely sure of ethnicity, stay with skin tone."

Marchand and Castillo traded off taking me on surveillance and interviews when they felt the situation was safe. Butler's main cars were new and clean. The surveillance cars were often dusty to dirty, even a little dented, definitely not Ranger's Porsches. They reminded me a bit my POS cars until the day a surveillance suspect took off on his "crotch rocket" motorcycle. Suddenly Jose floored our car's accelerator, and I nearly blacked out. "This is a Dodge Hellcat in disguise. Zero to 60 in 3.6 seconds." I'm not sure Ranger's Porsche Turbo could accelerate that fast.

-0-

"Want to hike to the Crest next Saturday, Steph?" asked Castillo referring to the 10,000-foot mountain on the east side of Albuquerque.

"Sorry, last time you took me up there, I about passed out from the exertion, altitude, and fear," I answered. "Bob and I will stay on flat land." I'm not keen about narrow walks with steep drops after my building ledge incident in Atlantic City some time ago.

"Gringa, you need to get in shape," he smiled. "If you want to get into field work you are going to have to do some serious running, hiking, and climbing."

Castillo and Marchand often regaled me with surveillance tales requiring campouts, long hikes, horseback rides, trail bikes, and climbing mountains. Jose related the time he had to climb a tall spruce tree to watch suspects as they worked around their cabin. Maybe I was better suited to urban surveillance where air conditioning and lattes were nearby.

Saturdays the bosque trails are well used. Bob Dog is in Seventh Heaven unless he sees a horse on the trail. Horses are a bit too much for an East Coast dog. The Corrales trail passes near the Shining Star restaurant. Like the Frontiersman by the university, the Shining Star is good for watching people. It is one of the main gathering centers of the North Valley and Corrales area.

Bob and I along with Roberta, Cheryl, and their beagle Jack were enjoying lunch on the cafe's outdoor patio. We discussed a variety of topics of no consequence while I practiced my surveillance skills. Bob was asleep next to Jack but suddenly jumped up and raising his nose. Was there a new horse coming near? The restaurant keeps a hitching post in the pack for trail riders. Instead, Bob was staring at a couple with their baby in a carrier walking toward the restaurant. The woman was 5'5", blonde hair cut short. The man was 6' tall, dark hair and a full beard. Instantly Bob took off. The leash which had been tied to the table came undone and, like a bullet, Bob, was across the patio leaping onto the man. The man held the baby carrier high, away from the Bob. I hurried behind and went to grab Bob while apologizing to the man when I looked into his eyes and realized it was Joe Morelli. Bob had smelled and recognized Joe.

Joe and I stared at each other.

"Wow, you have a friendly dog, ma'am," he said.

I was tongued tied.

"Oh Jeez, look he's torn my pocket," Joe said as he looked down at his pants.

I didn't notice.

Turning to the blonde woman and handing her the baby carrier, "Janice dear, take Andrew inside and find us a table while I untangle this dog from me."

The blonde looked at me with daggers in her eyes. My dog had attacked her man and endangered the child. I couldn't blame her. I got Bob under control. Since others on the patio were watching us, Joe turned towards the parking lot giving me a hand signal to join him away from others' ears.

Pretending to mess with his torn pocket Joe mumbled, "What the hell are you doing here?"

"You are alive."

"I'm in witness protection Cupcake. There are a couple of people back East who want me dead, so I had to die. "

I couldn't speak. I hoped my brain was recording this for later playback because right now everything was jumbled.

"Why aren't you in Trenton with Ranger?"

"Ranger is dead. I live and work here now."

"I'm sorry Steph. Listen, we can't stay here talking, in fact, I can't talk to you at all."

"Who is the woman?"

"My wife. The baby isn't mine. She was pregnant when her husband died. We've been married only 2 months. Please Steph, forget you saw me, never mention you saw me. It's my life at stake and now my wife's and our child. Please Cupcake. As it is, I'll have to report our meeting, and we'll be relocated again."

I could only nod.

Joe bent over and gave Bob a big hug. Coming back up he said softly, "I'm glad you have Bob."

And with that, he turned and walked into the restaurant.

When I returned to the table, Cheryl asked, "Do you know him?"

"No," I said sadly. "One good-looking guy, though. Bob has good taste, but the guy is already taken." Turning to Bob, "Nice try guy, next time find me one who isn't married." Inside my body shook.

* * *

 **Chapter 4:** Bob's New Job

* * *

My landlady, Carla Campbell stopped by for coffee one morning. "Steph, Bob is a very social dog. Have you considered making him a therapy dog?"

Sipping my coffee, I made a noncommittal noise. Bob was indeed social. He made friends easily both with people and other animals, except horses.

"He's such a stable, personable guy. He could visit hospitals, nursing homes, and charm those who are isolated."

"Hmm, I don't know," I mumbled. I couldn't see myself visiting shut-ins.

"My friend Barbara is an instructor for therapy dogs. She is going to evaluate Jacob here." I looked at Jacob who was currently in a tug of war with Bob over a piece of rope. "Let her look at Bob."

The training was intense for both of us, but curiously, when Bob realized he was training for a job, a real job, his other "problems" disappeared. He quit eating underwear, grabbing food off the table and knocking people over with enthusiasm. Who knew training the two of us would lead to such a smart dog?

Bob loved his new job. His enthusiasm was infectious. I was actually enjoying meeting people and bringing them joy, if only for a few minutes. Bob especially liked meeting guys. No wonder having lived with Joe. Was it the testosterone? Of course, he was a lover around women and amazingly knew the difference. You gotta love those dog noses.

After visits to a nursing home with Carla and Jacob, Barbara the therapy trainer invited us for coffee. "Stephanie, Carla, we are going to try your guys at the VA. They are both a bit too hyper for senior citizens. They should do well with younger adult patients."

After more training and security clearances, Bob Dog, Jacob Dog, Carla and I were cleared to start visiting the Raymond G. Murphy VA hospital in southeast Albuquerque near Kirkland Air Force Base. As expected the boy dogs thought they had died and gone to another doggie heaven, this one inhabited by mostly guys, but included a few women for the dogs to schmooze. The two goofballs played soccer with those going through rehab and the laughter from the guys, and gals often missing a limb or two partaking in doggie fun was infectious. For quieter times, Bob wiggled and sat at attention as the veterans sat and talked to Bob and flirted with me. Someone taught Bob how to salute and instantly Bob had a new cadre of admirers.

Bob's more serious side is attuned to those with PTSD. The big red Wookie-like retriever does not elicit fear but rather tenderness and softness in men and women damaged by the sounds and sights of war. He sits quietly beside a veteran, as if communicating with Dog-ESP, "It's OK, you are safe."

It was nearing the Holidays, Bob Dog, and I were delivering gifts to soldiers confined to their beds or their rooms. These are the most critically injured who may spend the rest of their life in a VA facility either here at the hospital for long term care.

I stopped outside one door and read the occupant's name. Enrique Delgado. The supervising nurse remained in the hall as Bob, wearing his Santa hat, and I entered with our gift. Bob stopped halfway into the room and softly barked. "Quiet Bob, you know you can't bark," I scolded.

Bob surged towards the soldier who sat in his wheelchair staring out the window at the Sandia Mountains to the east. "Excuse me, Mr. Delgado, my name is Stephanie, and this is Bob the Wonder Dog. We brought you something for Christmas." The man didn't move. Bob stuck his nose under the man's hand. There was no response. Bob bounced the man's hand on his snout. Finally, Bob pulled his best trick. He sat up straight and raised his right paw and dipped his head in a salute. The man didn't respond. Bob licked his hand, another therapy dog no-no. "No, Bob, I scolded." I came around to talk to the man and gasped, "Ranger?"

His body had lost muscle mass, the eyes were dull as if unseeing. A tube was stuck in his nose but wasn't hooked to oxygen. I looked to see if all limbs were still present, they were. I fell to my knees and grabbed his hands. They did not move nor did his eyes show expression. "I thought you were dead," I whispered. He still didn't move. Was he deaf? I reached up and touched his lips, but he did nothing. I wept a bit then got up and kissed his lips, "I'll be back."

I went to the floor desk, "What can you tell me about Mr. Delgado in 612?" My mind spun. Why wasn't he listed at Carlos Manoso?

"We only discuss patients with a family or the medical staff," said the nurse somewhat distractedly.

"I know him."

"Unless you are family or on the contact list, we can't give you any information."

I went home and called Rangeman Trenton. It was after 8 pm, 10 pm in Trenton. Tank had left for the day. Ram answered, "Rangeman."

"Ram, Its Stephanie Plum, please have Tank call me immediately."

His gasped but maintained his professionalism, "10-4 Steph, does he have your number?"

I wasn't sure, so I gave it to Ram.

I paced back and forth in my casita. Why is Ranger being called Enrique Delgado? Do they even know who he is? What happened to him?

The phone range, showing Rangeman on the caller ID.

"Steph?" Tank said with a tired voice.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Tell you what?" he said hesitantly.

"He's alive."

"Because he isn't."

"Bullshit Tank, I just saw him in the VA!"

"There's nothing there Steph, it's just a shell." Tank was speaking quietly.

"What happened?"

"He was captured and tortured. They used some weird drug, it destroyed him, turned him into a vegetable. He was rescued, but..." I could hear Tank choking up talking about his best friend.

"What do the doctors say," I asked softly.

"They don't know. They don't know what type of drug was used. They don't know how to treat him," Tank said in a frustrated tone.

"Why is Ranger listed as Enrique Delgado?"

"This is to protect him. Those who did this to him might try again. That's the only name the hospital has for him. He is completely vulnerable in his state."

"If they aren't calling him by his name, doesn't that add to his confusion?"

"Steph, I'm not sure it matters."

"The hospital only allows people on the contact list to visit him rregularly or receive medical updates. Get me on that list!"

"But..." he stuttered

"GET ME ON IT!"

* * *

 **Chapter 5:** Discovery

* * *

I now had a new routine; work, walk Bob and visit Ranger. For Christmas I decorated his room with lights and spent the whole day with him, reading to him and retelling stories of Rangeman men, his family, and my crazy exploits. If he heard me, he didn't show it. The nurses came in and fed him and asked me to leave while they tended to his sanitary needs. Shheeesh.

For Valentine's Day, I decorated his room with hearts and flowers. While sitting in a chair next to him holding his hand, I wished I could be closer. I went to the nurses' station. "Could you help Mr. Delgado back to bed for a while? Enrique and I were once...lovers. I'm not going to have sex with him, but I'd like to hold him in bed again. I'll make sure we both keep our clothes on."

This caused a flurry of telephone calls lasting an hour. Finally, two supersized male orderlies and a nurse came and carefully lifted Ranger onto his bed, resetting the various tubes still in him. Right now all I cared about was Ranger's brain. He needed to wake up.

For several hours I snuggled with him, talked to him, rubbed his abs, "Hey Batman, where are you?" I started to weep quietly on his chest. His breathing changed, minuscule, but I noticed it. When I looked up into his eyes, they had moved position. They no longer stared the 100-mile stare but were looking at the red valentines on the wall. I began talking to him intermingling with kisses. When the nurse came to shoo me out for the night, I was asleep snuggled next to Ranger. As I left the room, the nurse saw Ranger's eyes follow me out.

Ranger was waking up, his eyes were more responsive. The nurses kidded me about my "bedside manner," but most days they had Ranger already propped up in bed as I entered his room. I snuggled in and began talking, kissing, rubbing his arms, hands, chest, and shoulders. I flexed his fingers and toes, pulled his legs and arms, tickled his ears, anything to stimulate him within ethical parameters. One afternoon after I stopped touching and snuggled in for a quiet time, I felt something touch my back. It was Ranger's hand. He was trying to rub my back.

Two weeks later he whispered his first word, "Baa." It was as if a dam had broken. Ranger was waking up; moving, trying to talk, and most of all, thinking.

His will to live jumped into gear and he began pushing himself harder and faster than what the doctors thought possible. They didn't know he is Batman, nothing was impossible for him. Ranger's muscles were weak, his motor responses slow and he was frustrated which was a good sign. A frustrated Ranger works even harder.

Over time his ability to speak returned. "I was lost," he whispered. "I was unable to move or scream. I felt like I was buried, dead and in eternal Hell."

I had been in similar situations, caught in coffins or buried under objects so in a tiny way I could understand the fear. I had no concept of what it would be like for days, weeks and months.

"Gradually there was light to go with the dark, but I was still trapped. I sensed shadows then shapes, sounds but nothing made sense. It was like a giant puzzle, and the pieces were flying around in my head. Gradually the pieces began to fit together to form objects, sounds were not just noise, but something familiar and my eyes began to see. My heart jumped when I realized you were beside me, weeping on my chest. From then on I fought to get back to you."

It would be a hot June day, but the morning was still pleasant. Ranger, Bob the Service Dog, and I strolled to the shaded patio at the VA hospital. Ranger's walk was slow, he used a cane but was continuing to get better. The doctors quit trying to predict how much Enrique Delgado would continue to improve. Their original assessment was he'd be in a coma for the rest of his life. Or they believe if he came out, he would be severely compromised. The drug, whatever it was, acted as a wall, enclosing his brain but not damaging it.

"You are doing better every day, Rick." We both understood the name. Carlos Manoso was dead and buried. Ranger must be forgotten. He was now Enrique Delgado or Rick. Since Carlos' full name was Ricardo Carlos Manoso, Ranger didn't have trouble making the transition to Rick. I did.

We sat under the canopy. Rick faced out looking towards the mountains. I sat with my back to the wall enclosing the patio. This was a complete role reversal when Ranger always sat with his back against the wall, now I was the one watching and monitoring action around us. Bob went over to Rick and stuck his head under Rick's hand insisting Rick pet him. Casually Rick scratched Bob's ear.

"It was Bob that first recognized you in December. He saluted you." I made a salute to Bob. He reciprocated.

Rick chuckled, "Not bad for a recruit." Then pausing and looking off he said, "I miss them all. I wish I could work out with...the guys again." He knew even mentioning Tank, Lester, or Hal or any of the other men could be dangerous. My heart clenched remembering the days at Rangeman Trenton gym and the joviality between the men as they worked out. The exception was when Ranger was meting out discipline on the mats.

As we sat and talked, I blinked in wonder. Tank and Bobby were walking across the patio towards us. Ranger's back was to them and didn't see them. I remained quiet and hoped my eyes didn't betray my surprise.

They stopped opposite of Ranger and pulled up chairs but didn't utter a word. Bob jumped up and welcomed Tank with a wiggle and tail wag. I held my breath, would Ranger remember them? Ranger smiled, "That was quick."

Tank and Bobby looked at me. "He just wished he could work out with some of the old gang," I said smiling.

Tank broke into a big smile and punched Ranger's shoulder, "Nice to see you again, Rick."

Bobby, ever the medic, tried to evaluate Rick, but his emotions spilled all over his face with a huge smile.

Tank turned to me, "Steph you were our last hope."

My eyebrows shot up, my eyes opened wide. I didn't understand.

"Angela is Angela Manoso Butler, Ranger's cousin. She is also one of Ranger's government handlers."

"Cousin? And she's a Fed? I thought she was out of the CIA," I nearly squeaked in surprise.

"Let's just say Butler Security is a bit more than it appears," Tank said. "Your pay grade isn't high enough yet to get the full story."

I was confused. I remembered her comment about the Feds looking to hire me. Is she the one who was sending Ranger on the missions? What was Butler Security? What did he mean by "yet?"

Tank continued, "When Ranger was rescued, Angela and Bobby arranged for him to be brought here, not Newark where he would be recognized. The doctors were stumped how to treat him. They said a spouse had more success breaking through than a team of doctors. You were the closest thing to a spouse."

"Didn't they do a brain scan or something?" I asked.

"There were many tests," Bobby sighed, "All were inconclusive. Nobody knows what was used let alone how it works. Many doctors figured his brain was fried. Others suggested he didn't want to recover."

"Why didn't you get me involved sooner?"

"Baby Girl, He wasn't ready. When I brought you out from New Jersey, he hadn't even opened his eyes. He was still in a fetal position."

"You should have just shot me, Tank," Rick mumbled.

"Don't think I didn't consider it. Angela wouldn't leave me alone with you."

"Why weren't other family members brought out?" I asked.

Bobby sighed, "He's dead. One slip of the tongue in the family and the ruse is over. Angela can keep a secret, plus she's here, not in New Jersey or Miami. I've been in constant contact with Angela and the doctors here keeping track of his condition. Angela was the one to decide when you would find Rick."

"So all this was a setup?" I was feeling indignant.

Both Bobby and Tank looked uncomfortable. Tank began, "Set up is too strong. We hoped and prayed you would be able to help him. Then Joe died, this set you back weeks. When you asked to be transferred to Miami or Atlanta, it was a sign we could proceed. While you were getting settled here, doctors and therapists continued to work with Ranger. They got him out of the fetal position and into a chair. You made the breakthrough plus gave him the will to live again. Only Nick and Angela know, none of the other Butler employees are aware of this. They believe you are very active in service dog work here at the VA. "

"What about Carla Campbell, Barbara, and the dog therapy? Was that another setup?" I was actually pissed.

"It was Angela's idea. When Nick and Angela saw how easily you moved around town and how people reacted to you and Bob, she realized Bob would be the one to get you into the VA." Tank admitted. "Carla and Barbara were originally interested in Jacob. Angela asked them to test Bob. The rest you did on your own."

"But you had a funeral for Ranger."

"His enemies need to believe Carlos Manoso is dead," replied Bobby.

It was all a charade. My emotions had been played to convince some yahoos Ranger was dead. Not only my feelings, his family and all Rangeman employees were also gutted by the deception.

"So what about Joe?" I asked as I remembered his funeral. He "died" because some yahoo wanted him dead too?

Bobby looked worried, "Stephanie, Joe died in Alaska."

"No, he's alive," I insisted.

Bobby, Tank, and Ranger exchanged glances wondering if I was delusional.

"Bob spotted him at the cafe. The poor dog was beside himself, jumped all over Joe. He had a full beard, hair was cut short, but I recognized him. We talked briefly. He wanted to know why I wasn't with Ranger. Joe is in witness protection."

Shaking his head Tank said, "I heard one of his undercover operations went bad. He was shot. The Alaska trip was for rehab. Guess the Feds decided he needed to disappear altogether. Steph, you realize Joe Morelli and Carlos Manoso are gone forever, buried in Trenton. Alluding to the fact either is still alive could get them killed. If you stay with Rick here, you can never bring him to Trenton for a visit nor can your family or friends come to visit. Think about the isolation."

"What do you mean IF I stay with him? Rick and I are one."

Ranger reached out, pulled me close and kissed me behind my ear. "A new life, Babe."

* * *

 **Chapter 6:** Resurrection

* * *

It's been 2 years since Rick was released from the VA hospital. Initially, we stayed in Albuquerque as I continued as the head researcher at Butler Security. Rick started a computer-based business which he operated from our home office. Part of the money Tank gave me helped get Rick's project going. Not surprisingly Rick's computer business took off. He was creating computer war games.

We lived in Corrales, not far from Clara Campbell. The large house was a two story Southwestern style, stucco on two acres. In some ways it reminded me of the Ramos house in Deal, but ours wasn't pink. We didn't have animals other than Bob, so the land was a bit excessive except it gave Rick security. Of course there was a big wall around all with a remote controlled gate out front. Rick runs his business from home.

Ranger and I quietly married but I retained my maiden name in public. This way I could travel back to Trenton, but I didn't. Trenton was growing distant in my life. The lifestyle, the people, the smell, food, faded. My mother grew restless wanting to know what her wayward daughter was doing in _Mexico_.

There was no way she would come to visit. Instead, she sent my father. Daddy called Butler Security after getting information from Tank. Rick and I discussed if he should be around when my father came. Explaining the grand house would be difficult. It would be easier if I admitted I was married. Daddy would want to meet his new son-in-law, so Rick decided to gamble Daddy would not recognize him.

When Daddy arrived, he stepped out of the Uber ride and looked at the house carefully before he released the driver. He was shocked. Maybe he thought I was living in a trailer or another old apartment. I went to the car and hugged my father.

"Pumpkin? Do you work here?"

"No Daddy, this is where I live. I'm married."

"Married? Nobody knows."

"No and I'm not sure how to let the people in Trenton know, so I've avoided mentioning it. He's not Italian, Hungarian, or from the Burg."

I led my father into the house 's living room. Rick was standing quietly. I didn't know if Daddy would recognize him. Rick was not as quite as massive as before but still ultra fit and trim. He had a full black beard, and his hair was cut short. In Trenton, Ranger often wore his hair long, tied back with a leather string. Today he was dressed in tan slacks and a blue button-down shirt. "Daddy, this is my husband, Enrique Delgado. Rick, this is my father, Frank Plum."

Rick had worked hard to lose his Jersey accent but still spoke carefully, "Welcome, Frank."

The men shook, hands and my father smiled, "Nice to see among the living Ranger."

I was stunned. "How did you know?"

"Pumpkin, I was in the Army. I learned to recognize my fellow soldiers with and without beards, long or short hair, skinny and muscled. His eyes haven't change nor his ears and eyes."

Ranger grunted, "If I didn't know better I would say you were in intelligence."

Of course, Daddy had a lot of questions. He was owned those. I went first, "I live in Mexico?"

He chuckled. "Helen misunderstood you when you called. She was well into her bottle. I never corrected her. She is ashamed you live in a foreign country and hardly talks about it. She can't bring herself to leave Trenton. According to her, it is the daughter's responsibility to come home often."

"Probably every Friday night for dinner," I mumbled.

"She adamantly refuses to come to Mexico with…..all those people, and doesn't speak Spanish. She was afraid nobody would understand her when she became ill from the water."

I rolled my eyes. I responded, "She will love my new name."

Frank smiled, "I'll enjoy telling her. Now….Enrique, what happened? Are you in WITSEC?"

"No, Frank. If I had been, you would have never found us," Rick answered.

We spent hours discussing the last 2 ½ years: Rick's poisoning, hospital stay, my being brought out to help him recover, and our life since. I did not mention Joe Morelli being alive. In fact, his name was never mentioned.

I asked about life in Trenton. Nothing had changed. Grandma Mazur was now in senior living as the stairs were beyond her. My mother still kept a perfect house, but my father was eating more and more at the lodge where they served salads and vegetables. Daddy continued to drive Buicks and now was a Uber driver.

"I suppose you drive another German car," Daddy smiled.

"No sir, that was the other guy. We have to stay low key. I have a pickup and Stephanie drives an Enclave," Ranger smiled.

"That's my girl! Any chance you want Blue Blue?"

"No, no, Daddy."

Rick smiled, "It would make a great Low Rider."

I scowled and then chuckled. Yeah, dropping the suspension to where it rode just inches off the ground would be stylish is some parts of town. Eventually, we got around to what Daddy would tell people when he returned. "Your mother will want pictures with your husband."

"Do we tell her I'm married?" I asked.

"Ah, I'm not comfortable with my picture being shown back there, " Rick added.

My mind flashed on Jose Costillo, my partner at Butler Security. He could pose as my husband for pictures. I got up to call Angela.

Angela and Nick arrived with Jose and another Butler employee named Felipe Montano. I kept Felipe in the kitchen having him help me with preparing refreshments while the Butlers, Jose, my father, and Ranger discussed the Big Deception. When Rick and Jose stood next to each other, their similarities were striking. Angela nodded, "That's why I brought Felipe. He is a bit different."

So for the next hour pictures were taken with Felipe Montano and me. To make the background look like Mexico, we avoided the large lawn and used the neighbor's adobe wall. The ground was dirt with several cacti on the side. I wore a Mexican peasant skirt, shirt, and boots. Felipe was wearing jeans, a work shirt and a cowboy hat pulled low you couldn't see his face well. He was shorter than Rick and Jose, closer to my height. Bob sat at our feet. For one picture we exchanged Bob for a goat. Daddy couldn't stop laughing. The Burg was always alive with gossip, what would they say about this?

"Frank, you can never mention Rick is still alive," Angela counseled.

"Angela, I grew up in Trenton when the Mob was active. One learns early to keep their mouth shut."

A few days after Daddy returned to Trenton, he called from his cell phone while on a break driving his Uber. "Pumpkin," he laughed. "It worked better than we hoped. I showed Helen the pictures. She went nuts. 'Why does she associate with those people? She's no daughter of mine.' She then tore up the pictures. 'Nobody is going to see that Spic husband of hers."

"I knew she was opinionated, but I never realized how bigoted she is. I'm sorry Daddy," I tried to console him.

"Pumpkin, don't be. I'm sorry you two couldn't reconcile your differences. She never accepted you not being another Valerie. Live your life is with Rick and know you have your father's and grandmother's love."

"Thank you, Daddy."

"Oh Pumpkin, I received a call from Tank Sherman at Rangeman. He told me he'll keep me up to date on your activities. I don't need to risk contacting you directly. He's a good man just like Rick. I'm thrilled you two got together. Now keep him safe."

-0-

As Rick's business grew, he needed more privacy. People wanted to see and talk with the designer. He found a buyer for an obscene profit. We sold the home in Corrales and moved to Colorado. I had to leave Butler Security. The proximity to Angela Manoso Butler was too dangerous. A Manoso family member or friend might show up, and I might be spotted. Questions would be asked. Word would get back to Trenton I was in NEW Mexico, not Mexico.

We were still concerned about Rick being spotted. Jose Costillo, my former partner, agreed to grow a beard like Rick's and to wear his hair the same way. Now they looked like brothers if not twin brothers. Jose's accent was western, his stride different from Rick's. When Mr. and Mrs. Enrique needed to be seen together in public, Jose was my companion.

Rick and I bought a ranch; pretty bold for two New Jersey natives. The San Juan Mountains are magnificent out our front windows. Rick has started another business. I have become a ranch hand of sorts, hauling hay on a snowmobile in the winter, keeping the water troughs filled year round, and trying to learn how to cook. So far, I read recipes well. Rick often comes to my culinary rescue. The more difficult chores are done by Rick and the ranch foreman. Steve Marchand, my other Butler partner, is our foreman and head of security.

Bob still isn't wild about horses but doesn't try to hide from them anymore. Jacob Dog also lives with us as his days as a show dog and stud are over. Both continue to do therapy work, but now it is with children at the small local library. They are quite happy resting in front of the fireplace gnawing on bones or each other's face.

The Burg has long forgotten about Stephanie Plum, Ranger Manoso, and Joe Morelli. My exploits have been filed in the "old new" gossip files. My mother is still the perfect Burg wife, keeping a clean and tidy home, but she does not have her daughter Stephanie to complain about. When someone asks the rare question about her daughter Stephanie, my mother deflects with, "She's living in Mexico with goats." To someone from the Burg, Mexico is the end of the earth.

#

A Part II of this story is **Home on the Rangeman**. It will be posted "soon."


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